CHAPTER XIX
STILL A MYSTERY
The two men stood in silence, looking down on the wretched creature shivering in the chair. Walter Fane had never been much of a man, and now that his guilt had been brought home to him, he looked more of a craven than ever. A rat would have showed a braver front, for when in a corner that animal will fight. But Fane did not even show his teeth. He lay in the chair, huddled up, with his face covered, and moaned like a rabbit taken in a trap.
There seemed no doubt as to his guilt, and none was in the mind of the two men who had hunted him down. The evidence was without a flaw, and if Fane escaped the gallows, he so richly-deserved, it would be more a miracle than by any natural occurrence. The diary of his wife, identified him with the husband who had grown weary of her. The evidence of the key showed how she had entered the house, which had originally been furnished for her, and it only remained to learn from the lips of the assassin precisely how the crime had been committed. Fane made no attempt to defend himself. He did not even state that he had been at Westcliff-on-Sea on the night, and at the very time of the murder. He simply lay there crushed, and in spite of the horror of the cold-blooded crime he had committed, in spite of his cowardliness, the two men pitied a human being who could fall so low, and behave so basely. Even the courage of a rogue can be admired, but there was nothing worthy of admiration in the conduct of the man who had thus been caught.
Arnold spoke first, and even though he pitied in some ways the man, he could not render his voice other than cold and harsh. "Well, Fane," he said sharply, "and what is to be done?"
Fane did not reply. He only moaned. Tracey answered for him. "There's only one thing to be done, I guess," said he; "hand him over to the police. He deserves it."
The miserable man sprang to his feet with a shrill cry. "No! no! I will kill myself first. You shall not-you shall not"; and he glared at them with dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, his face white, his lips grey in an extremity of fear. Calvert took no notice but turned to the American.
"I am unwilling to do that," he said. "After all I am to marry Laura, and there is her sister to be considered. Should the whole truth be made public, Mrs. Fane will suffer. She is not this man's wife. I must think of her and the child, Tracey."
"That's true," assented the other, pondering. Then he looked up in a brisk manner. "I reckon the best thing is for Fane here to tell us the whole story."
"You have heard the story," moaned Fane, still hiding his shameful face.
"Not your version of it," said Tracey. "I dare say you'll try and make black appear white, and swear you didn't kill your wife."
Fane looked up. "I'll swear to that certainly," he said solemnly. "I did not kill her."
Arnold turned from him in disgust, thinking to save his neck he was lying, but Walter caught him by the coat. "Calvert! Calvert! listen to me only a moment-only a moment. I swear by all that's holy that I did not lay a finger on Flora."
"You acknowledge that she was your wife?"
"I do-I do."
"And that she came to the house?"
"Yes, yes!"
"And that you saw her there?"
"Not alive-not alive. She was dead when I set eyes on her."
"That's a lie, anyhow," said Tracey.
"It is not a lie."
"It is. You want to save your neck. Hang it man, confess, and die like a man. You killed this poor woman to rid yourself of her."
"No! I didn't. I swear I didn't. Oh, why won't you believe me?"
"You are such a liar," said Tracey. "But I don't want to be hard on you. Take a drink of brandy. It will pull you together. Calvert, with your permission-"
The American went to the side-board and filled a glass. While he was thus occupied, Calvert touched the man on the shoulder. Fane, who had again sunk into the chair, trembling and white, looked up. "Take the brandy," said Calvert quietly, "and then tell us your story. Until I am absolutely convinced of your guilt, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"Oh bless you-bless you!" Fane seized Arnold's hand, and tried to kiss it, but the young man drew it away, with an ejaculation of disgust, and wiped it.
"Be a man," he said angrily. "If you had nerve enough to kill poor Flora in that brutal manner, surely you can face the result."
"I didn't kill her, I tell you," cried Fane in an hysterical manner. "I am as innocent as you are. Give me the brandy-give-ah!"
He had it to his lips by this time, and drained the glass of neat spirits at a draught. Then he coughed, placed the glass on the table, and sat down. The spirit give him the courage he lacked, and after a few moments he looked up, more composed.
"Sit down, Calvert, and you, Mr. Tracey. I'm going to make a clean breast of it. But you will not find me so bad as you think."
"Whatever you may say, the case is bad enough," growled Tracey, and took a seat. Calvert did the same, and both pair of eyes were turned expectantly on the culprit. Fane began in a hurry, as though he was afraid lest the effect of the spirit should die out, and leave him powerless to finish his gruesome recital.
"I am the husband of Flora Brand," he declared in a low voice, and with a flushed face, induced by shame at his position. "I met her five or six years ago-I forget the exact time-and married her."
"Why did you call yourself Wentworth?" asked Arnold.
Fane wriggled and looked down. "I hardly know," he said faintly. "I wanted-" he paused, then out came the truth with a violent effort. "I wanted two strings to my bow."
"As how?" asked Tracey, watching him.
"In this way. I met Flora in a crowd at some fireworks. She was in danger of being crushed. I rescued her. She was pretty, and I admired her. I followed up the acquaintance, and called on her mother."
"As Wentworth?"
"Yes! I-I-" here Fane wriggled again, and made an effort as though swallowing a lie. "I called myself Wentworth, because I didn't wish her to know my real name. For the same reason I said I was a commercial traveller."
"I don't see the reason."
"You will soon," said Fane, with a cynical look, for, as the brandy took more effect on him, he became bolder. "I had a small sum of money, and no occupation. If I wanted to be at ease, it was necessary that I should marry a rich woman. I wanted to leave a way of escape."
"I see," said Tracey, in a tone of disgust. "You intended to marry Flora under your false name, so that should occasion offer, you might marry a wealthy woman under your real one."
"Yes," said Fane calmly; "that was my intention. But I did not intend to marry Flora at all at first. Then I fell so deeply in love with her that I decided to ask her to be my wife. She told me of the money she expected from Brand in Australia, and of course that made me eager to marry her."
"Then why did you take the name of Brand?"
"One of my friends saw me in the neighbourhood, and I could no longer assume the name of Wentworth. Flora's mother was just dead, so I told her that I expected money from a man called Brand, who had the same name as the man in Australia."
"You got the name from him?"
"Yes
"Well," said Calvert, "I don't see your reason for the change of name. Wentworth would have served quite as well to hide your contemplated villainy. I suppose you know, Mr. Fane, that even though you married Flora under a false name, the marriage holds good."
Fane shivered. "Yes, I learned that from my lawyer when I went to see him about my marriage with Julia. I had no intention of committing bigamy. Circumstances were so strong-"
"Oh, chuck that," said Tracey roughly; "get along with the yarn."
"Fane looked angrily at the indignant face of the American, and obeyed. He had no alternative.
"I took the name of Brand, and married Flora. We lived at Gunnersbury, and were always talking what we should do, when we got the Brand money. I intended to furnish a house with the money I had."
"What about the White Room?"
"That was a favourite fancy of Flora's. She loved a white room. I promised to furnish one in the new house."
"Then you did not furnish Ajax Villa for Miss Mason?"
"No; for Flora. News came that the old man was very ill-probably dying. The money had been left to Flora. On the strength of that, I spent my money in furnishing the villa, so that when we inherited the fortune I might take Flora there."
"It seems to me you counted your chickens before they were hatched, Fane," said Calvert; "but it's just the sort of thing a weak man like you would do. I suppose you loved Flora in a way."
"I did love her. I loved her very dearly. Had I not done so I would have severed myself from her when I married Julia. As it was-"
"You betrayed both women," finished Calvert. "Yes?"
Fane hung his head, for the scorn in Calvert's voice was hard to bear with patience.
"I knew Julia for some time, and knew she was rich. She took a fancy to me, and I saw that I would only have to ask her to be my wife, and she would consent. Then came the news that old Brand had married his housekeeper. I thought it was all up with the chance of getting the money, so I married Julia. As a commercial traveller (as Flora believed me to be) I could stop away for a long time. I induced her to take the Hampstead house, and did not appear in the matter. I acted-"
"Like a mean hound!" cried the American wrathfully. "In our country you'd have been tarred and feathered, and lynched on the top it."
"There's no need to call names," said Fane cynically. "I am at your mercy, so-"
"You deserve none."
"Calvert, I appeal to you," said Fane, turning to the other.
"You shall have strict justice, and no more," said Arnold, in an icy tone; "anything I do will be for the sake of your wife and child."
Fane shrugged his shoulders, and sneered. "Virtuous men," he said; "oh, what virtuous men! But had you been in a dilemma, as I was, you would have acted as I did. I had little money, having foolishly spent a lot on the furnishing of Ajax Villa. Also, I had to pay the rent. And you know, Calvert, how magnificently it is furnished."
"White Room and all," said Calvert, coldly and unsmilingly.
"Yes, I arranged that to surprise Flora. But after we learned that the money of Brand would not come to us, we did not get on well together."
"I guess you made her suffer," said Tracey savagely.
"No. The fault was with Flora. She thought I was in love with other women, and was jealous."
"She had cause to be. Go on."
"Not so, as far as she knew," replied Fane coolly. "Well, we did not get on harmoniously. Then, finding matters were desperate with me, I proposed to Julia, and married her."
"And you took her to the villa you had prepared for Flora?"
"Yes, I did," said Fane defiantly. "Julia's money could keep up that house, and Flora had none. I told Julia I was fond of yachting, and she allowed me to go away for months at a time. She did not mind so long as I left her control of the business, as I did. I bought into the firm with a little of my money, and a good deal of hers. The business rightfully belonged to her, so she did the work."
"And you went away yachting?"
"I never yachted at all-or very little," said Fane in a contradictory manner. "I spent the time when away from Julia with Flora."
"And the time you indulged yourself as a commercial traveller, you spent at Ajax Villa," said Calvert.
"Yes. I managed to keep both wives, and both households."
"Calvert and Tracey, amazed by the utter shamelessness of the man, stared at one another. But they could not help admiring the cleverness which he had employed to live this double life. How long did it last?" asked Calvert.
"For three years more or less. At last things became so bad that I wanted to be away from Flora for a long time. I suggested that I might be a relative of Brand and that I should go to Australia. Flora believed that I went."
"And all the time you were posing as Fane at Ajax Villa?"
"I was-I told Julia I was tired of yachting. I remained at home-"
"One of your homes."
"In my own home," said Fane, with emphasis, "under my own name. I suppose this man Bocaros-although I don't know him-must have seen me and have put two and two together."
"Yes," chimed in Tracey, "and no doubt he heard of you from Miss Mason, who is a friend of Gerty B. She is the daughter of Bocaros's landlady, Mrs. Baldwin, and he was frequently at her house."
Fane groaned. "To think I should have been given away like that," he said in a melancholy tone, "and I never knew the danger. I wonder why Bocaros told Flora?"
"For the money, I guess," said Tracey, "seeing she made a will in his favour. But that needs clearing up; the professor shall do it. You get along with your story."
"There's little more to tell."
"Oh yes, there's a lot. What about the crime?"
"I am innocent," protested Fane solemnly; "I came back to Flora while Bocaros was poisoning her mind. She accused me of being married but I denied it. She never mentioned Bocaros, or I should have been placed on my guard. I remained a time in the Hampstead house, and I suppose while I was there Flora, under the direction of Bocaros, managed to take an impression of my key. I always wore my latch-key on a chain, but Flora could easily have taken an impression while I was asleep. Then I went away for the last time, thinking that her jealous fears were at rest. She told me about the money, and I was enraged to think how I was done out of it. Julia has not ten thousand a year," said Fane sadly, "or anything like it. I would have done better to stick to Flora."
"Go on," said Arnold impatiently, "for heaven's sake spare us these remarks. You left the Hampstead house, thinking all was well."
"Yes," replied Fane, with a sullen glance at the man who rebuked him, "and all would have been well but for that interfering Greek. I went down to Westcliff-on-Sea, and stopped with my wife."
"With Miss Julia Mason?"
"With my wife," said Fane savagely; "I look upon her as my wife."
"Does she know you were married before?"
"No. She knows a lot and about the death of Flora. But she thinks-"
Arnold rose. The man sickened him. "Don't say anything more. I can understand what lies you told her. Come to the point. Why did you come up on that night to Ajax Villa?"
Fane gave Arnold a second ugly look. "I came, because on the morning of the twenty-fourth I received a letter from Flora saying she had found out my house and was going there on that night to see my wife. She insisted I should be there also so that she might learn the exact truth."
"As though a low-down cuss like you was capable of telling it," said Tracey, in disgust; "but how did the letter come to the seaside? Did Mrs. Brand know your address there?"
"No. The letter was addressed to Ajax Villa, and sent on. It had been written on the previous day, and had I received it earlier, I should have gone to Hampstead and seen Flora. As it was, I had no time, and could see her only at the villa."
"You had the whole day," said Arnold dryly, "seeing that you received her letter in the morning."
"Yes. But Mrs. Fane was in the room when I received it. She became angry, for she is a very jealous woman. I swore it was not from a woman. She would not believe me, and all that day kept a watch on me. I could not get away, yet I felt, to put things straight and to persuade Flora to hold her tongue, I must. I then pretended to be ill and went to bed. After five I slipped out and took the six train to town. I have reason to believe that my wife followed-"
"We'll come to that later," said Calvert quickly. "Did you go at once to the villa?"
"No. Flora said she would not be there till between eight and nine. I waited in town. Then I met a friend and he detained me till nearly nine. I got away at last, and went to the villa. It was in darkness. I could not find Flora in the garden where I expected she would be."
"You didn't know she had a key?"
"No. She said nothing about it in her letter. I wondered where she was, then concluded that as I was late she had gone away. I intended going to the Hampstead house, but thought I would go into my own for a time. I opened the door, and went upstairs. I entered the White Room, and there I found Flora, dead."
"Dead!" it was Arnold who spoke; "you swear she was dead?"
"Yes, I swear it," said Fane, striking his breast in a somewhat theatrical manner. "She was lying dead on the mat before the piano, and had apparently been struck from behind. I looked at my watch; – it was a quarter past nine. I was horrified and wondered how she had come by her end. I searched the house. There was no one about, and all the doors were barred. About half-past nine, while I was searching in the back, I heard a ring at the door. I was terrified, and thought if I were found in the house with the dead that I would be arrested."
"And it's a pity you were not," said Tracey.
"A ring at the door at half-past nine," said Arnold thoughtfully; "I expect that was Laura. She promised to meet me there then. But after a time, as no one came to the door, she went away."
Fane stared at Calvert. "What was Laura doing there?" he asked. "I knew you came, but Laura-"
"How did you know I came?" said Arnold sharply.
"I saw you."
"Where?"
"In the White Room when you looked at the body."
"Then you remained in the house?"
"I was afraid to go," said Fane, with a shudder; "I thought some one would see me coming out of the house, and that I would be arrested when the crime came to light. I had an idea of disposing of the body, but I could not. After the ring at the door I waited for a time. Then I stole back to the White Room, and took the dagger which was lying by the body."
"A stage dagger?"
"Yes. Though I didn't know it was so at the time. I went to the back and thrust it into the dustbin out of sight. I was afraid to take it away with me lest it should be found on me, for that with the dead body and my relations with the dead woman, would have been evidence enough to hang me. I hid the dagger in the bin. Then I was coming back to the room, when I heard footsteps."
"Whose footsteps?"
"I don't know. I was too afraid to venture out. I remained in the back part of the house almost mad with terror. Calvert," cried Fane, clasping his hands, "I assure you I thought my brain would give way. I fancied that the police were in the house and that the body had been discovered. I made up my mind to be arrested. Had I but had the nerve I would have gone back for the dagger and killed myself."
Tracey sneered. "People of your sort don't kill themselves. Well, how long did you hide?"
"I can't say. Till some time after ten. Then I heard the front door close and stole out. I went up to the White Room. The body was still undisturbed. I wondered how I could get away and down to Southend so as to establish an alibi. Then I waited and heard you come in. Yes, I heard the door open. I concealed myself behind the hangings of the room. I saw you enter. You started when you saw the dead and recognised the body, to my surprise. Arnold, how was it you never knew me as Flora's husband?"
"I saw very little of my cousin," said Arnold, "and she scarcely spoke of you."
"But the photographs?"
"I never saw any of you."
"Yet there were several. Afterwards, when all was quiet, and after the body was buried, I went to the Hampstead house and removed all papers and photographs so that my connection with Flora might not be known."
"You forgot a photograph that Derrick found, and one that I picked up," said Tracey; "then there was a diary."
"I never thought of the diary," said Fane, passing his hand across his face, "yet I should have. Flora told me she kept one, and I might have guessed she would set down everything. But I was in such terror at being discovered in the Hampstead house that I forgot."
"You were a coward right through," said Arnold coldly; "however, go on. What happened after you saw me?"
"I waited. You went down the stairs evidently in a great fright. As you recognised the body I knew you would not call in the police, as you apparently fancied you might be accused. When you left I went to the window to see you go out. I saw the officer passing, and then to make him think that people were in the house, and to drive you away, I set the phonograph going."
"I heard it-I was in the hall," said Arnold, "and I was afraid. I admit it, Fane, I was terribly afraid."
"I guessed you would be. You left the house. I saw the policeman lean over the gate to listen. I saw you join him. I saw you walk away. Then I thought I would escape. When you were gone with the officer, I stole out. I passed along a by-street. I saw a motor-"
"My car," said Tracey, "and you took it to Charing Cross."
"I did," nodded Fane, "then I left it there and caught the underground railway to Liverpool Street, where I took the express to Southend. The rest you know."
"Not who killed Mrs. Brand," said Arnold.
Fane considered. "I can't tell you who did," he said; "she was dead before I came, so those who came into the house after ten could not have killed her."
"Do you know who they were?"
"No! I heard footsteps."
"How do you know there were two?"
"I only think so. There might have been only one person. I can't say, I was not in a state to think. I hid, and then all happened as I say. I don't know who killed my wife. I got back to Southend and afterwards heard the body had been discovered. I came to town and bluffed out the whole matter with that fool of a Derrick. When I heard about the Hampstead house being found I went there before Derrick came, and removed everything, as I said."
"Did you find nothing to lead you to think who killed Mrs. Brand?"
Fane hesitated. "I can hardly say," he said, feeling in his watchpocket, "but as you know so much you may as well know all."
"We must know all for your safety."
"You believe I am guiltless?"
"Yes," said Arnold slowly, "I think you are, seeing that your story is consistent. But we'll see. I will do nothing publicly for the sake of your wife and Laura. What did you find?"
Fane took out his watch-chain and produced an old-fashioned, small round locket of pale gold. "That was in the hand of Flora," he said. "I expect she grasped at it when the murderer struck at her."
"There was a struggle, then," said Calvert, and opened the locket. He gave a cry: "Calvert, it's Mrs. Baldwin's face!"
Tracey started also. Sure enough it was the face of Mrs. Baldwin only much younger-looking. "I said a woman did it," murmured Tracey heavily, "but I never thought it would be that woman. Yet she might be the one."